


bambi legs

by disgruntledkittenface



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 19-Year-Old Harry, 21-Year-Old Louis, American AU, Asexual Character, Coming Out, F/F, First Date, Flirting, Fluff, Genderswap, Girl Direction, Girls Kissing, Lilo friendship, Niall Horan (mentioned) - Freeform, Nick Grimshaw (mentioned) - Freeform, No Smut, Zayn Malik/Gigi Hadid (mentioned), all of the characters are cis girls, open communication, tomlinshaw friendship, zarry friendship - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 12:07:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16408193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledkittenface/pseuds/disgruntledkittenface
Summary: “Oh my god,” Zayn says, rolling her eyes and standing up. “You do know what this means, right?”“Yes?” Harry tries, looking up pathetically and hoping Zayn will take pity on her.“This means she doesn’t even need the fabric she buys from you every other week,” Zayn says slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “She doesn’t come here for the fabric. She comes here for you.”Harry works at her family’s fabric store sometimes and always sells the most interesting fabrics to Louis. Louis is the wannabe fashion designer who keeps buying fabric she doesn’t necessarily need just to find a way to talk to Harry.





	bambi legs

**Author's Note:**

> hiiii I'm so excited to take part in this fest! I love my prompt and what I got to do with it. Thanks and all the love to my friends who held my hand and offered advice and encouragement and, most especially, ace-picked this for me, I appreciate it so much. All remaining mistakes are my own!

The late afternoon sun slants across the sidewalk as Harry watches people bustling by. There are commuters heading home from the direction of the subway station, overwhelmed parents and babysitters trying to corral kids and toddlers, shoppers hefting their bags. It seems like every single person in Brooklyn is currently making their way past her family’s fabric store.

Every single person except the one she’s watching for out the window.

Furrowing her brow, she looks at the clock on the wall for the hundredth time that afternoon before casting another glare up front at the offending window. 

“You need to chill, babes,” Zayn says, sidling up next to her and gently knocking her shoulder against Harry’s. “She’ll show.”

Harry briefly considers pretending she doesn’t know what her friend is talking about, but she knows when to admit defeat. She slumps against the counter behind them, sighing.

“She wasn’t here last week, right?” she asks, pinching her bottom lip between her fingers before looking at Zayn. “She didn’t come in while I was on break or something and you didn’t tell me?”

“Are you kidding me?” Zayn scoffs, flipping a hand through her long, silky black hair so that it lays over the side of her head that’s shaved. “I wouldn’t dream of it, you’d kill me. Or worse, you’d give me this  _ look _ and tell me you were disappointed in me.”

She shivers at the possibility as Harry cracks her first smile in the last hour. 

“It’s been every other Wednesday for, what?” Zayn says, leaning against the counter and pressing her arm comfortingly against Harry. “A year? Year and a half? She’ll show. She’s just running late or something.”

“She’s never been this late,” Harry frowns, checking the clock again.

“Babes, there’s a million possible reasons why she’s not here yet,” Zayn insists, poking Harry’s cheek where her dimple would probably be if she had shown up. “She could have lost track of time or had a class that went over. It’s probably just a train delay, you know what the fucking MTA is like.”

With another shoulder nudge and a wink, Zayn stands up straight and heads toward the back of the store to sit behind the cash register with her dog-eared copy of  _ Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. _

“Taking this whole leather jacket aesthetic a bit far, aren’t we?” Harry calls over her shoulder, eyes fixed firmly on the front window, not bothering to look back to see the middle finger she’s sure is raised at her. She sighs again and drags herself over to the bin containing bolts of fabric next to the cutting table. She may as well distract herself with putting them back on the shelves. 

The task is just the right amount of mindless for Harry’s thoughts to drift back to the first time that she’d come into the store: Harry had been sitting at the cutting table, sipping an iced latte that Zayn had brought her, when a petite girl with short caramel-colored hair wearing a striped t-shirt underneath a jean jacket had walked through the door.

Harry had rallied through her exhaustion from staying up most of the previous night talking with Zayn to chirp a friendly greeting to the new customer, who’d nodded distractedly, clearly trying to deflect a salesperson’s attention. Relieved, Harry had turned back to her caffeine, sipping at the straw obnoxiously to try and get every last bit, before rearranging the stack of fabric bolts on the table in order from stripes to polka dots to floral. She had pushed the stack to the right a little, clearing room in case she actually needed to cut something for the girl meandering the store, and nudged a stray pincushion over the edge, murmuring an “Oops!” to no one.

Or so she had thought, she’d almost jumped out of her skin when a scratchy voice had answered “Hi!” and the girl who turned out to be Louis had returned the pincushion from where it had fallen on the floor.  _ Louis. _ She’d asked for a few yards of the green floral at the top of Harry’s stack, one of her favorites, and they’d talked and laughed while Harry went about her job. Harry can’t even remember what exactly they’d chatted about that day, she just remembers thinking how  _ nice _ it had been, how  _ funny _ Louis was. She’d waved a cheerful goodbye when Louis left, hoping she’d come back.

It was only after Louis had left and Harry was cleaning up the table that she’d looked down and noticed the mini rainbow pin she was wearing. It was one of Zayn’s; she’d taken it off her tote bag and pinned it to Harry’s dress when she’d come in that morning with a silent smile, having said all she needed to the night before when Harry confided in her for the first time that she was almost definitely sure that she wasn’t straight. 

Harry had stared at the tiny button, suddenly realizing that what seemed like an unusually pleasant customer interaction could have actually been  _ flirting. _ She’d just stood helplessly in the middle of the store, completely unsure as to what to do about it. It had been one thing to realize she’d been skirting the edges of the community she was actually a member of for so long, thinking it was just really important to be a good ally. (Tell that to the folder of photos of Jade from Little Mix she’d saved to her phone, determinedly telling herself she just liked how she dressed.) It was a whole other thing to actually say out loud to her best friend that she wasn’t only interested in cis guys. 

But actually flirting? With a real girl in real life? Who had possibly been flirting back? Another whole other thing. Overwhelmed, Harry had wondered then how many more other things were coming her way. 

She’d been a little quiet when Louis had returned two weeks later, literally fumbling through the store to help her find the right section, knocking into corners and tripping over her own feet, and metaphorically fumbling her way through the previously easy conversation, speaking too slowly and unable to find the right words. She’d felt like an idiot, some kind of not-adorable baby animal learning how to walk or something. She’d barely managed a goodbye when Louis left, sure she’d screwed everything up.

But Louis kept coming back, every other week like clockwork. Once Harry figured out the pattern of Louis’ visits, she started looking forward to them. She loves watching Louis walk up and down the aisles with her serious face on. She always purses her lips just when she makes her decision, and Harry has to bite her own lip to stop from commenting on how cute it is when Louis finally walks up with her selection.

It had taken a few visits, but Harry manages talking with Louis much better now. She can’t get enough of Louis’ playful teasing and the way it always makes her cheeks heat up; she just wishes she knew for sure whether it was just friendly or flirting. They usually end up lingering at the register for awhile after Louis has paid, just talking, until Zayn has walked by rolling her eyes enough times to make Harry feel self-conscious and mutter about getting back to work, knowing Louis will be back week after next. Like clockwork.

Speaking of, Harry stares up at the clock as if it’s wronged her personally. It basically  _ has, _ it’s an hour and a half later than when Louis usually bursts through the door, chattering and laughing, and Harry  _ misses _ her.

“She’s not coming,” Harry declares, sitting on her stool with a huff.

“Patience, grasshopper,” Zayn says as she walks over, dragging her stool from the back counter to sit next to Harry. “She just posted a photo shaming a guy for manspreading on the subway, I think she’ll be here soon.”

“Oh my god,” Harry groans, covering her face with both hands. “I still can’t believe I let you track her down on social media. It’s so embarrassing.”

“Why?” Zayn replies, infuriatingly calm. She rubs a hand over Harry’s back. “It’s not like she ever has to know. And I barely even look since you’re so weird about it.”

“Because _it’s_ _weird,”_ Harry cringes. “It’s weird that she doesn’t know we found her accounts. And it was unethical! You’re not supposed to use information from receipts to stalk customers online.”

“There’s a simple solution for that weirdness, babes,” Zayn says matter of factly. “Just press the follow button. She knows who you are, it’s  _ not weird. _ It’s weirder that you haven’t, actually.”

“If she wanted me to see her Instagram posts, she would have followed me by now,” Harry says stubbornly, the argument an oft-repeated one. “She’s known our first names for months, and my last name is on the door.”

“Oh my god, Harry,” Zayn mutters, pulling out her phone. “This is so frustrating to watch, I swear to god. You two are the worst.”

“What?” Harry pouts, pushing a hand through her long curly hair and wondering if she should put it up in a bun before Louis arrives. If she’s actually coming, that is.

“Okay, her Instagram posts that she absolutely does not want you to see,” Zayn says, looking up with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. She holds up her phone, with Louis’ profile on screen, the thumbnails of just-woke-up selfies basically slapping Harry in the face. “Even though you say you haven’t, I know you’ve gone through her page, babes.”

Harry’s eyes widen and she feels her mouth go slack. How did Zayn know that? She’s been  _ so _ careful; she only ever looked when she was alone, and she made sure never to slip and mention anything in front of Louis or Zayn.

“Look,” Zayn continues as she pulls up individual photos of Louis’ designs. “She always posts slideshows of her works in progress and then the finished pieces for her projects at Parsons, right?”

Miserable, Harry nods. She crosses her arms, bracing for whatever Zayn has up her leather sleeve.

“Oh, that jacket’s  _ sick,” _ Zayn says, momentarily distracted from torturing Harry. After pointing at a few more photos, she looks up triumphantly. “Okay, my dear Harold, what do all of these designs have in common?”

“Um...” Harry stares at the screen, racking her brain, but it’s like all intelligent thought about design has just flown out of her head.

“Look how minimal her work is,” Zayn explains, pulling up a few individual photos to show Harry what she means. “And mostly solids, hardly any patterns.”

“So what?” Harry huffs, trying to figure out how to defend Louis against whatever charge Zayn is making.

“So everything,” Zayn replies, looking up with an evil grin. “None of the wild patterns she always buys here. From you.”

“Oh,” Harry says, crestfallen. She  _ loves _ the patterns that Louis always chooses. “Well…” 

“Oh my  _ god,” _ Zayn says, rolling her eyes and standing up. “You do know what this means, right?”

“Yes?” Harry tries, looking up pathetically and hoping Zayn will take pity on her.

“This means she doesn’t even need the fabric she buys from you every other week,” Zayn says slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “She doesn’t come here for the fabric. She comes here for you.”

Harry ponders Zayn’s words, biting her lip. If that’s true… no. Nope. It can’t be. Things that are too good to be true  _ always _ are in Harry’s experience. 

“That’s kind of a leap, don’t you think?” Harry counters. Zayn rolls her eyes again at the skepticism on Harry’s face.

“If one of you doesn’t make a move soon,” Zayn threatens, jabbing Harry with her index finger, “I’m going to rip the hair I have left out.  _ Useless, _ both of you.”

Zayn turns and grumbles as she drags her stool to the back of the store, leaving Harry with her thoughts. She turns Zayn’s words over and over in her head, but she just can’t bring herself to believe that Louis actually likes her. It’s been over a year, she would have said something by now. Something deep in her chest whispers that Harry hasn’t said anything either, but she ignores it in favor of sorting receipts. 

The bell over the door that she’s been waiting to hear for a small eternity suddenly chimes, interrupting her sorting (which was really just angry rifling), and Harry looks up to see Louis,  _ finally, _ skip through the door, grinning so wide that her eyes are crinkled at the corners. 

“Harry!” Louis says, smoothing the bangs over her forehead. “Hi!”

“Hi, Lou,” Harry says softly, biting back a smile, her eyes on her receipts. “I, um… wasn’t sure you’d make it today.”

“Me either,” Louis sighs, walking over to the cutting table and taking her canvas backpack off to set on the ground. “I’m doing a group project for class next week and I had to meet up with my friend Nick; I swear she was just being difficult for the sake of it, bickering with me over every single little thing. Then I had to wait forever for the train–”

“Fucking MTA, right?” Zayn appears over Harry’s shoulder, causing her to jump.

“Right,” Louis laughs, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth for a moment. It’s adorable is what it is, but Harry thinks it also might be a nervous tic, like the hair smoothing. 

Or it’s possible she’s spent way too much of their limited time together cataloguing Louis’ every move and now she’s reading into everything. 

Or maybe Louis is nervous.

Maybe she makes Louis nervous.

Or maybe she should stop listening to Zayn and her ridiculous theories. 

Harry tunes out the conversation as Zayn starts complaining about the next round of “planned service changes” as she’s heard it before, sitting on her stool and surreptitiously admiring Louis as she nods along and joins Zayn’s diatribe. 

The light blue, short-sleeve button-down that Louis is wearing brings out her bright blue eyes, not that they need it. She’s buttoned it right to the top like always, which maybe Harry shouldn’t find so cute but she does. She can never figure out why Louis always goes up to the top button when she’ll wear tank tops and scoop neck t-shirts that show off the tattoo just below her collarbones. It’s a fairly minor mystery, but one Harry would still like to solve someday instead of concluding it is what it is like the tattoo would have her do. 

Louis’ face is so expressive that Harry almost doesn’t need to hear her to know what she’s saying. She lifts her curved eyebrows and shakes her head, frowning with her whole face before breaking back into a laugh. For once Harry is grateful for Zayn’s avowed MTA grudge, she could sit here and watch Louis engage about it all day.

“Right, Harry?” Zayn asks, poking her in the ribs. 

“Hm?” Harry shuffles the receipts in front of her, trying desperately to seem casual, like she hadn’t just been creepily staring at the girl in front of her.

“I was just saying to Louis here,” Zayn explains, that gleam back in her eye, “how that Indian place we loved on the next block closed.”

“Oh! Right,” Harry says, unsure how to avoid whatever trap Zayn is setting for her. “Yeah, I loved that place, I don’t know where I’m going to go now.”

“I hate that,” Louis says sympathetically, shaking her head. “Like, as soon as you find a good place, you figure out your order, you get used to it, then bam! Closed.”

Zayn sighs, shaking her head. “And we were just saying earlier how we could go for some chicken tikka masala.” 

Harry glares at Zayn, threatening bloody murder with her eyes. If she doesn’t shut up soon, Louis is going to think they’re a couple or something. Sneaking a glance over to Louis, Harry sees her knit her eyebrows, looking from Zayn to Harry. She opens her mouth to say something, but smiles at them instead, a faint imitation of her usual sunny expression. 

Fuck. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says distractedly, looking around the store. “The place by me does all rolls, it’s like carb heaven. They do a great chicken tikka roll.”

“That sounds amazing,” Harry says sincerely. “I love bread.”

Oh god, who even says that?  _ I love bread. _ She sounds like that Oprah commercial that Gemma still relentlessly mocks; what’s she going to say next?  _ I eat bread every day? _ Harry is such an idiot, Louis must think she’s such an idiot.

“Me too!” Louis agrees, looking back and smiling warmly at Harry.  She attempts a smile back but  having Louis’ full attention on her is a heady feeling, Harry’s still not used to it. “I hate when people give up gluten when they don’t even have an allergy or sensitivity or whatever, like bread is the root of all their problems or something. Fuck that, I eat bread every day.”

Harry honks a loud, embarrassing laugh and immediately claps a hand over her mouth. Her face is burning, she can’t even believe herself sometimes.

“Oh, I’d love to go with you guys,” Zayn says regretfully. “But Gigi’s, like, off carbs this week or something.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot almost to her hairline and Harry’s heart practically leaps out of her chest with hope.

“Gigi?” Louis says, her casual tone false to even Harry’s ears.

“My girlfriend,” Zayn explains smugly. “On and off for about two and a half years. Anyway, she’s meeting me here for dinner after close, but you guys should go ahead! Harry, you can report back on the chicken tikka.”

“Oh, um,” Harry stutters, looking over at Louis, whose deer-in-headlights expression probably matches her own face exactly. “You don’t have to–”

“No!” Louis interrupts, smoothing a hand over her hair again. “No, I mean, yeah, I’d like that. Would you, um, are you… up for it?”

“Yeah,” Harry cries before she can stop herself. “Yeah, um, if you are. Up for it, I mean.”

“Great, you’re both up for it,” Zayn says, clapping her hands together. “Harry, babes, you can take off whenever. It’s so slow right now, I can handle things until close.”

“Do you wanna…” Louis jerks her thumb in the direction of the door, trailing off. Harry just gapes at her like an idiot. Maybe Zayn is right; they are both useless.

“Don’t you need any fabric, Louis?” Zayn asks innocently, throwing a knowing glance in Harry’s direction. 

Harry glances over at Louis, who’s scrubbing a hand over her face. It’s too late though, Harry already caught a glimpse of the guilty expression that Harry is  _ sure _ was caused by Zayn’s question. Harry pinches her bottom lip to stop from smiling as she considers the fact that Louis totally forgot about buying fabric after waiting for the train forever to get here.

Harry’s hands start shaking, so she puts them in her lap, twisting them together, hoping Louis can’t see. What if Zayn is right? What if Louis comes here not for the fabric, but for Harry?

“We… have, um,” Harry starts, momentarily forgetting how to speak like a normal human being. She clears her throat. “Red! We have this new red floral you might like, it’s kind of like that green you got the first time you came in.”

“Oh,” Louis says, smiling almost to herself. There’s a light pink tinge to her cheeks. It’s so pretty. “You, um, you remember that?”

“Of course I remember,” Harry says automatically, before catching herself. She refuses to look over, but she can  _ feel _ Zayn’s amused eyes on her. “I mean, that, um… I’ve always loved that green, I remember any time someone buys it.”

“Oh, right,” Louis replies, looking anywhere but Harry’s face. “Yeah, that makes sense. I’ll just, um… I think I see the red, I’ll just go check it out.”

She makes a beeline for the back corner, nowhere near the section with the new red fabric that Harry was talking about, and Zayn shoves at Harry’s shoulder.

“Ow!” Harry’s yelp fades into a pout as she rubs at the spot on her shoulder. “What?”

“Useless,” Zayn hisses, stalking away. 

Harry pushes things around on her table, her actions lackluster and pointless. It doesn’t even matter which corner she sets the new scissors on. Apparently she’ll only need to use them once more tonight before leaving. To go to dinner. With Louis.

Oh, god.

Harry buries her face in her hands, which have mercifully stopped shaking. Maybe if this had been her plan instead of Zayn’s, she’d be able to handle it without sounding like a total jerk. 

Probably not, but  _ maybe. _

A soft “Hey,” interrupts Harry’s spiral and she peeks through her fingers to see, even though that raspy voice could only belong to one person. Louis is standing in front of the table, clutching a bolt of the red floral against her chest.

“You were right,” Louis whispers conspiratorially. “This red is great.”

Harry drops her hands, revealing her grateful grin.

“Thought you’d like it,” she murmurs, grabbing her scissors. What was she thinking, leaving them in the left corner like that? “How many yards?”

“Let’s do three,” Louis answers, setting the bolt of fabric down. “I can’t believe I almost forgot I needed something like this; I’m starved, so when you guys mentioned dinner…”

“Me too,” Harry says quickly, staring down as she unfolds the fabric and lines it up. “I’m so hungry.”

“Watch,” Louis laughs. “The train will take forever.”

“It always does when you need it not to!” Zayn shouts from the back of the store. Harry looks back over her shoulder to see Zayn smile proudly at her. 

Maybe she can do this after all. 

Now that Harry’s hands are steady, it only takes a couple of minutes to cut Louis’ fabric and write up her ticket. Harry puts the bolt of fabric into the bin next to the table even though the section it belongs in is on the way to the cash register. Just so Zayn doesn’t get bored closing by herself tonight.

Louis hefts up her bag and they walk back to the register; Harry half a step ahead because of her stupid long, gangly legs. She wonders if the inch or two height difference is enough to bother Louis as she sets the ticket and cut fabric on the counter for Zayn to ring up. She’s never seen Louis out of Toms or Vans, so she knows the more petite girl doesn’t try and make up the difference.

“I’ll just grab my stuff, okay?” Harry asks, biting her lip. She looks at Louis from under her lashes, her throat drying up from nerves and the sight of Louis’ shy smile.

“Sounds good,” Louis murmurs, eyes on Harry until Zayn coughs to get her attention.

Harry leaves them to it, moving through the curtain that separates the front of the store and the backroom. She grabs her tote bag from the chair where she’d dropped it that morning and stops in front of the small mirror that her mother hung by the doorway. Her hair is probably fine, although she shakes out the front and runs a hand back through it before scrunching the ends. Her mascara held up through the day, no need to touch up, but she does need a swipe of chapstick before she can go back out there. Rummaging through her bag, Harry comes up with tubes of vanilla and cherry. 

It’s just chapstick, but Harry feels like she’s setting the tone for the whole evening. Vanilla is nice, but is it too nice? Is vanilla just friends? But maybe Louis likes vanilla; Harry does. And cherry, that’s too on the nose, right? It will make her lips just a touch darker pink, is that what she wants? To draw attention to her lips? Louis’ attention?

The sound of Louis’ bright laugh travels through the curtain, reaching Harry and her dilemma. That’s definitely the sound of a girl Harry wants to go on a date with. 

She puts on the cherry.

Zayn is just handing Louis her receipt and the cut of fabric as Harry walks back out front. Louis stops and gives Harry a small, private smile before putting everything in her backpack and putting it on her shoulders.

“Ready?” Louis asks brightly.

“Yeah, ready,” Harry answers before turning to Zayn. She freezes for a second, but goes ahead with her usual kiss to Zayn’s cheek goodbye. Zayn did make sure to mention having a  girlfriend, so Louis probably won’t get the wrong idea. “Thanks for closing. I’ll get you back next time.”

“Yes, you will,” Zayn replies, ruffling Harry’s hair. She stops short of mussing it too badly when Harry glares at her, swallowing a laugh before continuing, “Okay, kids, have fun. Bye, Louis, see you in a couple of weeks.”

“Bye, Zayn!” Louis says cheerfully, oblivious to the charged interaction that had just taken place in front of her. “See you!”

Harry follows Louis through the store, reaching in her tote bag for her sunglasses. Louis pulls a pair of white Ray-Bans out of her pocket as she holds the door open for Harry.

“Oh, we match!” Harry says, holding up her white cat-eye sunnies before putting them on. Oh, god, she’s such a dork. Why is she  _ such _ a dork?

“We do! High five!” Louis answers, holding her hand up. Oh, no. Louis is a total dork, too. If Zayn is wrong and this isn’t a date, Harry is doomed. She’ll have an unrequited crush on this dork forever. She returns Louis’ high five weakly, smiling when Louis grasps her hand for a moment before letting go. Or maybe they’ll just be two dorks falling in dorky love. If only Harry could tell which way this night was going to go; her heart can’t take this.

“I love days like this, don’t you?” Louis asks as they head in the direction of the subway station, dodging the other pedestrians to stay together on the sidewalk. “It’s not too hot, not too cold–”

“All you need is a light jacket!” They finish in unison, giggling.

“Oh my god, I love that movie,” Harry says, unable to tamp down her grin.

“Me too,” Louis says excitedly. “I used to watch it with my little sisters all the time when I lived at home; they’re obsessed with romantic comedies.”

“Me and my sister, too!” Harry says, some of her nerves melting away. “What about  _ When Harry Met Sally, _ or are they too young for that?”

They chatter about rom coms all the way to the station, through the entrance with the ornate fence that Harry has always loved, pausing at the turnstiles while they swipe their MetroCards, and picking right back up inside. Harry thinks Louis is probably the one person whose face doesn’t look sallow surrounded by the ugly yellow tiles as they make their way out to the platform to wait for the B train. 

There’s just enough of a breeze outside for Harry to decide she’d better pull her hair up in a bun after all. She probably imagines the way Louis falters in her explanation of her sisters’ latest obsession as she runs her hands through her hair and twists it up.

“I’ve never seen it, but I’ve heard it’s insane,” Harry says, giving the bun a pat before dropping her arms. Louis gives her a blank stare.  _ “Riverdale?” _

“Oh! Yeah, it is,” Louis assures her, smoothing the hair over her forehead after the breeze ripples through it. “But in the good way, you know? My mom hates it, but she took them to the craft store so they could make a murder board with red yarn and everything to try and figure out who the serial killer is.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry laughs. “Did you say  _ serial killer?” _

“Clearly you haven’t watched primetime soaps in awhile, Harold,” Louis teases, lightly pinching the stubborn love handle above Harry’s hip.

“Clearly,” Harry murmurs, blushing. She reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, only to notice Louis staring. “What?”

“You look nice with your hair up,” Louis says simply. She shrugs. “I usually see it down, and it’s really pretty that way too, but this is nice.” She grins, pointing. “And I can see your tiny ears now.”

“Hey,” Harry whines happily, so easy for Louis’ gentle teasing. She pretends to huff and covers her ears with her hands. “They’re not tiny.”

“They are!” Louis laughs, tugging Harry’s hands away. “It’s cute.”

“Oh,” Harry breathes, debating whether or not to curl one of her hands around Louis.’ The train decides to roll in just then, breaking the moment. Harry would be furious, shaking her fist at the universe or the MTA or both, but then Louis places her hand on Harry’s lower back and starts to gently guide her through the throng of people, and that’s… well, Harry’s not sure exactly what that is, but she definitely wants more of it. 

Harry lets herself be guided to a pair of seats at the back, sitting in the further one and placing her hands on top of her tote bag in her lap. Louis plops down next to her, setting her backpack between her feet and grins over at Harry.

“Okay, we have six stops,” she says earnestly. “Plenty of time for me to catch you up on  _ Riverdale, _ explain that Cheryl is your favorite even though you’ve never seen it, and hit the red yarn highlights of my sisters’ murder board. Ready?”

“Ready,” Harry laughs, sitting back, content to listen to Louis talk about whatever she wants in her bright, scratchy voice.

Louis is in the middle of explaining the previous week’s musical episode and laughing at Harry’s baffled expression when they reach their stop.

“Come on, Harold,” Louis commands, standing up and putting her backpack on. “Chop, chop, we need sustenance.”

“That went by fast, didn’t it?” Harry asks, twisting her head to try and confirm they’re really already at the Washington Square station. She joins Louis by the door they were seated next to, waiting for the train to stop so they can exit.

“Time flies when you’re talking about terrible CW dramas,” Louis grins at her. 

“They really did a  _ Carrie _ musical?” Harry asks, reaching up and pulling the hair tie out so her curls fall down around her face. “Like if I say that to someone, they’re not going to laugh at me?”

“I would never lie to you, Harry,” Louis bristles, putting her hand over her heart. “And I would never besmirch  _ Riverdale’s _ good name by making things up. I could never match the stuff they come up with anyway.”

The doors pop open and Louis walks out first, reaching behind her for Harry’s hand, which she takes without even thinking. She realizes after a split second how natural it had felt, like they’d done it a hundred times before, and wishes she knew what it  _ meant. _ It could be nothing, she and Zayn have done the same thing to avoid getting separated in crowds. 

But it could be something. 

Louis keeps hold of her hand, gently tugging her through the station and pausing at the exit so they can both fish out their white sunglasses. Louis holds her hand up for another high five and this time when she grasps Harry’s hand in hers afterward, she doesn’t let go. 

“We might have trouble eating there,” Louis leans in to tell Harry as they weave their way past some slow walkers. “It’s really small, you order at the counter and then they just have a few tables. We can always go back to my place, it’s really close, or figure something else out.”

Harry nods, her heart thumping at the prospect of going back to Louis.’ She’s pretty sure there’s just the one way to take that. For the first time that afternoon, Harry kind of wishes Louis weren’t holding her hand so she could sneak a text to Zayn for a pep talk. 

Louis makes up for her short legs by taking absolutely no shit walking through the middle of the busy crowd. Harry’s in awe as grown men in suits and tourists alike jump to get out of her way. It gets them to the restaurant quickly, and Louis finally drops Harry’s hand in order to hold the door open for her. Harry ducks inside, heart thudding as she looks around. It really is tiny.

“Aha!” Louis says, pointing to an empty table at the front. “Why don’t you go grab that one and I’ll order? You want the chicken tikka roll, right?”

“Oh, no,” Harry protests, turning to her. “You don’t have to–”

“Nah, it’s no problem,” Louis assures her. “This place is so cheap, and anyway, consider it payment for listening to me talk about  _ Riverdale _ for that long.”

“If you’re  _ sure,” _ Harry replies, not even bothering to dignify Louis’ joke. As if she’d ever need repayment for listening to her talk at length about any topic. If anything, she owes Louis dinner in exchange for that.

“I’m  _ sure,” _ Louis teases. “What do you want to drink? Water, tea, ginger ale?”

“Ginger ale, please,” Harry answers, hesitating for a second before reaching out to squeeze Louis’ arm. “Thanks, Lou.”

“I swear, it’s fine,” Louis laughs, putting her hands on Harry’s shoulders and gently turning her in the direction of the lone empty table. “Now go grab those seats before someone else does!”

Laughing, Harry walks over to the table and sits on the bench seat along the wall, setting her tote bag on the chair across the small round table. She looks around the small restaurant, wishing she were in any kind of mood to appreciate the vintage posters papered onto the exposed brick wall, jiggling her leg and trying not to watch Louis wait in line. She keeps sneaking peeks as Louis shuffles forward when the line moves, swiping on her phone. 

Oh, right, her phone. Harry grabs hers from her tote bag and taps out a couple of quick texts to Zayn.

_ SOS  _

_ She mentioned maybe going back to her place…  _

Harry bites on a hangnail on her thumb, hoping Zayn is by her phone as she waits for a reply.

**_First of all, no one does SOS texts outside of Pretty Little Liars._ **

That startles a laugh out of Harry. Maybe a serial killer on a primetime soap shouldn’t have sounded so outlandish to her after all; Zayn made her watch at least two seasons of that show in high school. 

**_Second, just be honest about your boundaries and it will be okay. Louis seems like a decent person._ **

Harry takes a few deep, calming breaths. Zayn is right, Louis does seem really decent.

**_And third, I will fuck her up if she hurts you. Give me her number, I’ll text her that._ **

“Here we go!”

Harry jolts at the sound of Louis’ voice, dropping her phone face up on the table. She scrambles to pick it up so that Louis won’t see the threat typed out plain as day on her unlocked screen.

“Sorry, sorry,” Louis winces, setting their food and drinks down before moving to take her backpack off. “I hate when people scare me like that, so I try not to startle people. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Harry lies, still feeling a little scattered. She reaches over to grab her tote bag and throws her phone in it before setting it aside. “Come on, I’m starving.”

“Okay, here we go,” Louis mutters, pushing Harry’s roll over to her along with a couple of napkins. “Oh, and I got us some chips to split if you want?”

“This looks great,” Harry replies, taking a napkin to use as a makeshift plate so Louis can spill some chips onto it. “Thank you.”

“I don’t share my favorite places with just anyone, mind you,” Louis says with a wink, reaching into the small bag for a chip. 

“I must be special then,” Harry says without even thinking, looking down as she pops the tab on her can of ginger ale. She takes a sip and then realizes what she said, spluttering, “Oh, um–”

“You are,” Louis murmurs, not meeting Harry’s eyes. She picks up her roll and takes a large bite, throwing her head back and managing to smile even as she chews. “God, that’s so good,” she says around a half mouthful of food, “I was so hungry, you have no idea.”

Harry giggles, the slight tension from a moment ago broken, and they start talking and laughing as they eat. The tikka roll is literally mouth-wateringly good, the tender chicken on just the right side of almost too spicy, and Harry would happily eat the flat paratha bread every day right along with Louis. This place will definitely fill the hole of Harry’s favorite place in her heart, and Zayn’s if she’s feeling charitable enough to give her an honest report. 

There’s less pressure at their tiny crammed table than there might have been at a true sit-down restaurant, and the casual atmosphere helps Harry relax. After a while, she even feels comfortable enough to pluck chips from Louis’ side of the table like she would with anyone else. Louis offers her a bite of her unda aloo roll, gently teasing her about the way she always sticks her tongue out when she takes a bite, to Harry’s chagrin and delight.

Before Harry even realizes it, she’s picking at her nearly empty napkin plate as Louis sits back, rubbing her cute little tummy and groaning about having eaten too much. 

“I always overdo it here,” she says, shaking her head. She points a finger at Harry, demanding, “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I would never get between a woman and her bread,” Harry says solemnly before collapsing into giggles again.

“Fair enough,” Louis nods after mock considering Harry’s argument. She looks down, toying with her straw for a moment before circling back to their last topic before her groan of satisfaction. “So you basically took a gap year?” 

“Yeah,” Harry confirms, reaching out to snag the very last chip before continuing. “My sister, Gemma, I don’t think you’ve met her? She’s finishing her business degree this year, so she’ll come back and help my mom run the store, and then I start Pratt in the fall.”

“So she’s the business side,” Louis says thoughtfully, “and you’re, like, the creative half of the brain?”

“Basically,” Harry furrows her brows, searching for the right words. “I mean, it’s not like exact, you know? She’s a creative person, she has great style. I steal a lot of clothes out of her closet actually. And it’s not like I can’t stand the business stuff, but we just kind of fall into those roles more, I guess. We complement each other.” 

“That’s great for running a family business, though,” Louis comments, smoothing her hand over her hair. “That’s really cool that you guys want to take it over someday.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, cheeks burning. God, she’s the least cool person on the planet, how did she trick Louis into thinking otherwise? She shrugs. “Yeah, I love it, so…”

There’s a lull after Harry trails off, and they sit awkwardly, fidgeting with their soda cans for a few minutes. This is probably where Harry will get the brush off, and she’ll head home on the train alone, and Louis will stop her biweekly Wednesday visits, and Harry will be alone forever, stalking Louis’ Instagram for selfies–

“Is this a date?” Louis blurts out.

Harry is shocked into a silence that hangs between them, somehow louder than their previous happy chattering. She opens her mouth to answer, but no words come to her just yet.

“I mean,” Louis finally stammers, “I don’t want to like  _ presume, _ or anything, but this  _ is _ a date, right? Are we… on a date?”

Harry presses her lips together, remembering the cherry chapstick she should have reapplied by now, and wills herself to be brave. After all, this is  _ Louis, _ the girl she’s liked for so long and built up so much in her head. But it’s also just Louis, the girl who loves talking about her sisters and somehow thinks Harry is cool and who’s playful and attentive and so, so sweet. Louis who’s decent, as Zayn said. 

It’s okay. Harry’s got this.

“Yes,” she says decisively, setting down her soda can. “I mean, yes, if you want it to be?”

Louis breathes a sigh of obvious relief, tension that Harry hadn’t noticed in her shoulders before melting away as she huffs a laugh.

“Yeah,” she replies, her blue eyes sparkling. “Yeah, I want it to be. I’ve wanted to ask you out for a long time.”

“Really?” Harry asks, wincing at the obvious disbelief in her voice. Despite the evidence to the contrary, it still seems too good to be true. 

“Really,” Louis says sincerely, reaching her hand across the table to toy with Harry’s fingers. 

“I guess it’s a good thing that Zayn made us go to dinner, then,” Harry says, looking up at Louis from under her lashes to see how her teasing goes over. Luckily Louis cackles.

“Oh, god,” she laughs, “that’s so embarrassing, we needed Zayn to order us to go on a date.”

“She’s going to be so pleased with herself,” Harry says, with a small smile. She turns her hand over so Louis can take it in hers. “It’s going to be unbearable, just so you know.”  

“She earned it, I guess,” Louis shrugs, rubbing her thumb over the back of Harry’s hand. “I don’t know if I ever would have worked up the nerve, to be honest.”

“How come?” Harry asks, cocking her head slightly, sincerely wanting to know.

“You remember the first time I came into the store?” Louis asks. When Harry nods, she continues, “I thought we hit it off so well, I really liked you and I thought you liked me–”

“I did!” Harry breaks in, unable to stop herself, returning the grin Louis gives her.

“But you kind of clammed up the next few times I came in,” Louis explains, gesturing vaguely with her free hand. “And I started second-guessing, like, every single thing, you know? I even wondered if I had it completely wrong and you didn’t even  _ like _ girls.”

Harry squeezes Louis’ hand, and takes a moment to gather her thoughts, looking around the now emptying restaurant. 

“I do like girls,” she starts, looking back to Louis and stumbling over the next words in her head. “But I don’t  _ just _ like girls, and I was figuring it all out when we first met.”

Louis nods seriously, listening intently as Harry continues.

“And you were the first girl,” Harry says slowly, wanting to say the words she’s been waiting to for a long time just right, “in, like, real life who I thought might be flirting with me and that made the stuff that I’d been figuring out… real, in a way it wasn’t before?”

“Oh,” Louis says, understanding dawning on her pretty face. Harry’s heart clenches at the thought that Louis knows exactly what she means.

“I’m not,” Harry continues, pinching her bottom lip, “I’m not really into labels for myself, at least not right now. I get that they feel right to lots of people and can be very helpful. But yes, so you know, I do like girls.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. Why does it still feel like she’s about to dive off a cliff? “One in particular.”

She looks up to see Louis give her a small smile, one she knows is meant just for her, and it’s somehow calming and thrilling at the same time. She smiles back, getting lost for a moment in Louis’ bright blue eyes.

“I like you so much, Harry,” Louis leans in to say quietly. 

“Really?” Harry asks, taking a shuddery breath.

_ “Really,” _ Louis replies immediately. “I can’t believe I’m the first girl you flirted with, I’m honored.”

Harry huffs a nervous laugh, running a hand through her slightly tangled curls as Louis rubs her thumb over the back of Harry’s other hand in hers.

“You know,” Louis says thoughtfully, “I think I understand what you mean about labels, but I can’t really explain it, lesbian just always felt right to me, like almost since I knew what a lesbian was, I’ve known I was one.”

“Zayn says the same thing,” Harry offers. “She’s bi, and she says that’s just always felt right to her, it’s just how she identifies.”

The mention of Zayn reminds Harry of their text thread from before dinner, and her heartbeat starts to pick up as she realizes what she wants to say next.

“Um,” Harry clears her throat, “speaking of labels, there’s something else I want to tell you.”

Louis raises her eyebrows, but keeps her hand entwined with Harry’s. “What is it?”

“Well, if we’re going to, you know,” Harry blows out a breath, “go on another date–”

“We will!” Louis laughs. “I mean, I want to. Preferably without Zayn having to arrange it.”

Harry bites her lip, unable to hide her smile.

“Then I just want to tell you now,” she continues, heart threatening to beat out of her chest, “that I’m not, like… I don’t really feel sexual attraction. To, like, anyone, really. I’m not interested in having sex, I don’t feel the desire for it, and I’m really only comfortable with, like, cuddling and kissing.”

“Okay,” Louis replies, looking at Harry expectantly, like she’s waiting for some kind of shoe to drop. 

“Okay?” Harry asks, searching Louis’ eyes. 

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says seriously, looking right back into Harry’s eyes.   

“This is where, like,” Harry tries to explain, even though Louis hasn’t asked her to, “labels feel more limiting, in a way, to me. I know that I fall somewhere on the asexual spectrum, but I do feel romantic attraction and sensual attraction, I’m really tactile, by the way, I love when you hold my hand or put your hand on my back–”

“I love it too,” Louis smiles, soothing her thumb over Harry’s hand again.

“But what I don’t know,” Harry continues, “is if I’ll change or how much, you know? I know what I’m comfortable with now, but I want to be open to possibility. I just feel like sexuality is so nuanced and it can be fluid and fluctuate with time, and I just want to be able to keep growing and learning.”

“Harry,” Louis says seriously, “I’m so happy and, like,  _ grateful _ that you’re sharing all of this with me, but I don’t want you to feel like you need to explain yourself to me or anything, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry whispers. “I just want you to know this about me now,” Harry pauses, “and not later.”

“Has anyone been a dick about this before?” Louis asks, narrowing her eyes and straightening up in her seat as if she intends to go have words with them if Harry answers yes.

“There have been a couple of people,” Harry says, “who haven’t texted back and things like that. Zayn called it ‘ghosting.’”

Louis cracks a grin at Harry’s air quotes. 

“Oh, my god, Harry, you’re such a grandma,” she laughs, imitating the air quotes. “Yes, the kids call that ghosting.”

They both laugh, and Harry feels her nervous energy drift away.

“But seriously,” Louis says when their laughter fades. “That’s really shitty, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry replies honestly. “It’s not like any of them really mattered, it’s not like they’re–”

“Me?” Louis asks softly, her face open and vulnerable. When Harry manages a nod, she smiles. “I would never ghost you, I promise. Especially not over this.”

Louis shakes her head, smiling down at her lap for a moment before looking back up.

“It’s actually kind of perfect,” she says, almost bashfully, and before Harry can try to puzzle what she means, she continues. “Remember my friend Nick I mentioned before? From my group project?”

Harry officially has no idea what’s going to come out of Louis’ mouth next, but she nods and waits. Louis heard her out, so now it’s Harry’s turn.

“So she’s very interested in, like,” Louis explains, “feeling connected to the queer community and learning our history, and I love to give her shit most of the time, but I actually really admire her for that, you know? Well, she’s taken me to this bar in the West Village, the Cubbyhole, a few times.”

Harry’s starting to feel like a bobblehead, but she nods again, waiting for Louis to continue.

“And I met this older woman there one night,” Louis says, gesturing vaguely again. “And we talked for a long time, and it was really interesting to hear her talk about being a lesbian and living in New York since like the ’70s and how things have changed, and how some things haven’t as much, you know?”

“I bet,” Harry murmurs, thinking how different that experience must be from reading books and watching documentaries. 

“And she told me how in the ’80s,” Louis says, smiling, “lesbians who were more interested in cuddling and kissing rather than sex were called bambi lesbians. And so, that’s just kind of perfect that that’s what you’re saying you like, because my friends and I used to call you bambi legs before I learned your name.”

“You had a nickname for me?” Harry whispers, her cheeks on fire. “You really liked me that much?”

“I really  _ do _ like you that much,” Louis replies earnestly, “and you don’t ever have to worry about me ghosting you. I want to know all about your boundaries and preferences and I want you to tell me if or when they change because I like you so much and I really want to go out on like a hundred million dates with you.”

“So you really don’t, like, mind?” Harry asks, ruffling a hand through her hair. “I just… I know we were laughing about Zayn having to orchestrate us going on a date, but that’s, um, this is all why I never really made any kind of move, you know? Because, yeah, it sucks that some people weren’t interested after I came out to them, but with you… with you, it really matters, and I just want to be really upfront with you so you know what you’re getting into. Because it would really hurt if we had a great time tonight, and then you–”

“Harry,” Louis interrupts, shaking her head. “I don’t know how to tell you enough, I really like you. I’m not here just looking for someone to hook up with, I’m here for  _ you.  _ You’re so different from anyone I’ve ever met, I feel like I just want all of your attention on me all the time. You’re quirky and interesting and funny and charming, and when you blush it’s so cute, I just want to hide my face so you won’t see just how  _ into _ you I am, but I won’t anymore because I really want you to know.”

Harry’s cheeks heat up at that and she bites her lip, looking down at her lap.

“You’re just,” she murmurs, flicking a glance up at Louis. “You just seem too good to be true, you know?”

“Believe me, baby,” Louis replies, “It’s extremely mutual.” 

Harry can’t contain the thrill that runs up her spine at the term of endearment and she shivers a little, exaggerating the motion to make Louis laugh.

“I really like that,” she whispers, looking up at Louis through her lashes.

“Good,” Louis says, “because I have like a year’s worth of pet names stored up for you and it’s going to be gross, all of our friends are going to hate us, bambi legs.”

“Bambi legs,” Harry repeats to herself, shaking her head. “I can’t believe it.”

“The way you stumble around that store like a baby deer?” Louis smiles, knocking her knee against Harry’s under the table. “How can you not believe it?”

“You know what I mean,” Harry murmurs, feeling the pink return to her cheeks.

“I do, lovely,” Louis says softly, squeezing her hand. “And listen, I won’t pretend that I’m not attracted to you. You’re so pretty, and I love how you look in all of your flowy, long hippie dresses.”

“Hey,” Harry whines happily before giggling, looking down at the patterned maxi dress she’s wearing.

“But I would never want you to do anything you weren’t completely comfortable with, okay?” Louis says seriously, tugging at Harry’s hand until she makes eye contact. “And sex isn’t good if both people aren’t into it or don’t want to be part of it, anyway, so just… we’ll have to keep communicating about this stuff, and what you’re comfortable with or interested in trying, but don’t ever push yourself for my sake, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry nods as it really sinks in that Louis means everything she’s saying. Her bright blue eyes are clear and she sounds so sincere and she’s looking at Harry like Harry is something precious, to be treasured. It’s a lot.

“Come on,” Louis says, sitting back in her chair. “I want to show you something, is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry replies, starting to gather their trash to throw away. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

It’s more than okay, but there are butterflies in her now full stomach flapping away as they clear their table and get their things. Harry sneaks in a swipe of chapstick when Louis’ not looking, because even though Louis makes her a little nervous, she also makes her feel really safe.

Louis takes Harry’s hand and gently tugs her toward the exit, holding the door open for her before dropping Harry’s hand to wrap her arm around Harry’s waist.

“I told you,” Louis says, “we’re going to be so gross. Come on, no use fighting it, right, muffin?”

Harry has a fit of giggles as Louis picks up one of Harry’s hands and drapes Harry’s arm around her own shoulder before setting off down the sidewalk in the direction of whatever she wants to show Harry.

“So, baby honey,” Louis says airily, “do you want to hear how I found your store?”

“Yes!” Harry answers, trying to calm her giggling so she doesn’t look like a lunatic. And she is curious now that Louis mentions it. “Yes, please tell me.”

“Right, so,” Louis starts, squeezing Harry’s waist, “I have this friend Niall–”

“Niall Horan? I know Niall,” Harry exclaims, turning to look at Louis. “We went to high school together.”

“Everyone knows Niall,” Louis laughs. “So Niall invited me to join this soccer league that played in Prospect Park every other week. And by some miracle, the day it started I got to Brooklyn a little early, I’ve never had that luck with trains before.”

“Okay,  _ Zayn,” _ Harry teases, lightly running her fingertips over Louis’ upper arm, reveling in how soft her skin in and grateful that she’s wearing short sleeves.

“Hey now!” Louis mock frowns at her for a second before laughing. “Okay, fair. Anyway, I was just walking along this street full of shops and I saw a fabric store.”

“A fabric store?” Harry says innocently. “Hm, how about that?”

“And the thing is, I didn’t really need any fabric that day,” Louis continues, looking straight ahead as they walk down the sidewalk. “And I always shop in the Garment District anyway. But I like fabric stores and I had some time to kill, so I went in and started looking around.”

“Then what happened?” Harry whispers, starting to think she might already know.

“Well, then,” Louis says quietly before clearing her throat, “then I saw this girl.”

They slow to a stop at a crosswalk and Louis is biting her lip, looking down, and Harry thinks she’s never seen someone so beautiful before, Louis’ already golden skin bathed in the warm pinks and oranges of the setting sun. Louis glances over at Harry before they start to cross the street with the rest of the pedestrians jockeying for room like they have no idea that Harry’s whole world is currently expanding right in front of their eyes.

“This girl,” Louis muses, shaking her head slightly and smiling. “This girl who was so pretty, with these long, wild curls, all long limbs and slim wrists, rearranging bolts of fabric on her cutting table. She was frowning a bit, see, ’cause she was concentrating and it was the cutest fucking thing. Until she had her stack all arranged, and then she patted the top of it and nodded, oh my god. And I just… I had to talk to her, you know?”

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, squeezing Louis’ shoulder. “I know.”

“So I went over there without a plan,” Louis continues with a laugh. “Just made a beeline for her and she looks up and she just has these gorgeous green eyes fixed on me and she smiled at me and I was melting inside, never seen anyone prettier in my whole life, and then she started talking and her voice is kind of deep, not like mine, all high pitch, hers is like rich honey, flowing out all slow, and if I thought I was melting before then, well.”

Harry blushes furiously, fighting the urge to hide her face but quickly succumbing to it. She presses her face against Louis’ hair, trusting Louis as she guides her down the sidewalk. After a quick, soft kiss to Louis’ ear, she moves back slightly.

“And when she asked what I needed,” Louis continues, tugging at Harry to follow as she turns a corner, “I panicked for a second, but then I saw her look down and she did this little, like nose scrunch? And she was looking at this green fabric, this floral pattern, and it wasn’t really my style or what I’d normally work with, but I could tell she liked it so I asked for a few yards of it.”

“I don’t scrunch my nose,” Harry says, grinning at how ridiculous Louis is and how happy it makes her.

“You’re doing it right now,” Louis points out. She slows to a stop in front of what must be her building and manages to pull her keys out and unlock the door without letting go of Harry. As they walk through the door and into the lobby, she continues, “And that was it, I was done for. So every time that I came out to Brooklyn for this soccer league, I went back to her store and I bought fabric that I didn’t need just so I could see her. And then the soccer league ended, and I just kept going back. Every other week. For months, just to see her.”

Stunned, Harry lets Louis guide her to the front desk and bites her lip as Louis signs her in, using her left hand to scrawl some kind of chicken scratch so as not to let go of Harry.

“You really did that?” Harry asks, keeping her voice hushed, not wanting to let the people they’re passing by in the lobby in on their secrets.

“I really did that,” Louis nods, pulling Harry through the open elevator doors and pressing the button for her floor. “And it was worth it.”

As soon as the elevator doors close, Harry ducks in and presses a gentle kiss to Louis’ soft, warm lips. 

“Oh my god,” Louis murmurs, cupping Harry’s jaw with her hand. “So worth it.”

There’s a small  _ ding! _ and the elevator door opens. Louis takes Harry’s hand and tugs her down the hallway, stopping after a few doors. And Harry’s so overwhelmed, so consumed by Louis and the way she told their story and trying to process that Louis traveled to Brooklyn that regularly  _ just to see her, _ that she almost forgot why they’re even there. Almost.

“What are you going to show me?” she asks, waiting a step behind Louis as she fumbles with the lock.

“You’ll see,” Louis mutters. “Assuming I can get the door open, this lock always jams.”

The lock clicks even though Louis hasn’t managed to turn her key just right, and the door flings open from inside. A slender brunette girl with warm brown eyes stands there, her expression cycling from annoyance to surprise.

“Thanks, Li,” Louis says smugly as the girl’s eyes look from Louis to Harry to Louis again. “Harry, this is my roommate Liam. Liam, this is Harry.”

Harry gives the dumbfounded girl a dorky little wave. She doesn’t move to let them in.

“This is  _ Harry?” _ Liam asks, making pointed eye contact with Louis as Harry looks on.

“Yes, Liam, this is  _ Harry,” _ Louis says, returning the pointed eye contact.

“Oh, thank god,” Liam says, finally stepping to the side and waving them in. “You finally got your head out of your ass.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Louis hisses, tossing her backpack down and looking toward Liam. “Weren’t you going to go hang out with Nick tonight?”

Harry watches the two of them have some kind of silent conversation, full of threatening eye contact. It feels like a tennis match or something, and after a moment she can tell that Louis won.

“Yes,” Liam says through clenched teeth. “It was nice to meet you, Harry,  _ finally, _ but I was just heading out.”

“Nice to meet you, too!” Harry calls after Liam, who’s already halfway out the door. She looks to Louis, who’s smoothing a hand over her hair. “She seems nice.”

“She’s great,” Louis says quickly. “She’s one of my best friends, actually, even though it took forever to wear her down. But she’s awful at taking a hint.”

Harry giggles, setting her tote bag down next to Louis’ bag and smoothing a hand over her skirt. Now that she looks down at it again, the black and white dress she has on is kind of hippie, actually. She looks up shyly at Louis.

“Well?” she says softly. “What did you want to show me?”

“Through here,” Louis says, leading her through the common room to the bedroom. It’s kind of a mess, books and papers and coffee cups strewn everywhere, so Harry steps gingerly through it all, following Louis.

In the back corner of the bedroom is a silver rack. Louis heads straight for it, but pauses when they reach it, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck. Harry waits, but Louis doesn’t say anything, so she steps closer, and realizes that she recognizes each of the fabrics. There’s a long sleeveless dress, just like the one Harry has on now, made out of the green floral she loves, the one Louis bought that first day, at the front. She looks back at Louis, who shrugs sheepishly but still doesn’t say anything. So she returns to the rack of clothes, pushing aside the hanger with the green floral to examine what’s hanging behind it. 

There’s a tank top made out of a heavy purple sequin fabric that Harry remembers Louis buying last fall; they’d made a joke about what kind of Halloween costume Louis could use it for. 

Then there’s another dress out of a silky black fabric with a white pattern on it, the one that Harry loves but Zayn always says reminds her of sperm. Louis had laughed and agreed, but then bought five yards of it so Harry hadn’t minded.

She bites back a grin, pushing the hanger to reveal a tote bag made out of a black and white heart patterned fabric she’s always been fond of, and another long dress out of her favorite of all the flamingo patterns they’ve ever sold, the birds a bright, shocking pink. She fingers the straps, remembering Louis teasing her about retiring to Florida in this fabric.

Next is an oversized blouse out of the soft pink and white polka dots that always remind her of Minnie Mouse. She glances over at Louis, whose blush matches the soft pink, and grins.

Then there’s another blouse out of this classic blue Hawaiian print that even Harry knows is dorky, but she can’t help liking. Then two more long dresses, one out of a delicate floral in light green and oranges and pinks, and another in a palm frond pattern of soft pinks and blacks.

It’s all of her favorites, right here on one rack of clothes that she’d be happy to wear for the rest of her life. It’s just…  _ Harry, _ boiled down to her essence and summed up in just a few pieces. She looks at Louis in wonder, finally really truly believing that, although Louis seems too good to be true, she isn’t really because she’s right here and she likes Harry as much as Harry likes her and this is all for real. Any last traces of doubt finally fade completely away and she throws her arms around Louis, holding her tight.

“Thank you,” she chokes out into Louis’ soft hair. “Thank you so much for showing this to me.”

“It’s not creepy, is it?” Louis winces, holding Harry just as tightly.

“No, no, it’s lovely,” Harry responds, pulling back to look Louis in the eye. She chuckles. “What’s creepy is that Zayn and I found your Instagram months ago and wondered why you never used any of the fabrics you bought from us.”

Louis cackles, her shoulders shaking. 

“Oh my god,” she says, wiping tears from the corners of her lovely eyes. “Well, thanks for not catfishing me. Let’s call it even then, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry agrees happily. She casts a glance over at the rack. “This can’t be all of the fabrics you’ve bought from us though, this doesn’t come close, does it?”

“Nah,” Louis shrugs. “I whipped up dresses out of most of them and either gave them to my sisters or sold them to other students here. Had to support my habit somehow, you know?”

“But then,” Harry starts, biting her lip and looking to the rack again, “how did you pick which ones to keep?”

“These are the ones you nose scrunched over,” Louis says softly. “That’s how I knew they were your favorites.”

“I don’t scrunch my nose,” Harry protests weakly.

“You’re doing it right now,” Louis says gently, leaning in slowly and pressing her lips to Harry’s. 

They stand by the rack of clothes, wrapped up in each other, trading slow, chaste kisses. There’s a hint of sugar on Louis’ lips, and Harry’s not sure if it’s left over from her soda or if Louis snuck in a swipe of chapstick too. It’s addictive, Harry is drawn back to it over and over again as Louis runs a hand through Harry’s hair, scratching at her scalp. Harry leans into the touch, practically purring, and Louis pulls back to laugh softly. 

“Come on, kitten,” she says, still petting at Harry’s hair. “You want to stay a bit? We can go out and watch something on the couch.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, absolutely not ready for the night to be over. 

She follows Louis out of the bedroom, looking back longingly at the rack of clothes and promising it she’ll be back. Louis grabs a laptop from one of the desks against the wall and plops down on the couch. She pats the cushion next to her.

“Come on, angel,” she says as she opens the laptop and taps out a password. “Sit by me.”

“What do you want to watch?” Harry asks, sitting down and peeking over Louis’ shoulder as she pulls up Netflix.

“Do we have time for a movie?” Louis asks, glancing over to see Harry nod. “Gotta be a rom com, then, let’s pick a good one.”

“Oh!” Harry says, pointing at the screen. “Stop, there’s  _ Two Weeks Notice.  _ Can we watch that one?”

“You’re a real Sandra Bullock fan, huh?” Louis says, pressing play and angling the top so they’ll be able to watch the movie from her lap. “Should I be jealous?”

“What can I say,” Harry says slyly, leaning her head on Louis’ shoulder after she sits back. “I like sassy brunettes.”

Louis gently pinches Harry’s hip, looking pleased as Harry squeals and twists away before leaning back against her. They watch the movie for awhile, cuddling together on the couch. Louis presses a kiss to Harry’s hair every so often and Harry stares at the screen, grinning like a maniac. 

About halfway through, Louis presses yet another kiss to her hair and Harry hums in satisfaction. This time, Louis leans slightly closer to speak softly next to Harry’s ear.

“I know you don’t like labels, bambi legs,” she says, pausing to press a kiss against Harry’s neck just below her ear, making her shiver.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, finally looking over and meeting Louis’ shining eyes. She raises her eyebrows and waits for Louis to continue, squeezing her hand to let her know it’s okay, whatever she’s going to say.

“But how do you feel about girlfriend?” 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! [ fic post](https://disgruntledkittenface.tumblr.com/post/180350422597/bambi-legs-by-disgruntledkittenface-category-ff)


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